love you because you are you. If I loved you for reasons then I
wouldn’t love you, but the reasons. I would have to leave you if someone
better came along.
music and novels portray a particular ideal of romantic love almost
relentlessly. Love is something that happens to you, something you fall
into even against your will or better judgement. It is something to be
experienced as good in itself and joyfully submitted to, not something
that should be questioned.
Is this person
good for me? Would I be good for them? To ask such questions would
betray a spirit of rational calculation that has no place in matters of
the heart. The only question you should be asking is whether it is the
real thing, which can be assessed by the strength of your feelings for
the other. For authentic love, no price is too great.
The typical workday is long enough as it is, and
technology is making it even longer. When you do finally get home from a
full day at the office, your mobile phone rings off the hook, and
emails drop into your inbox from people who expect immediate responses.
most people claim to disconnect as soon as they get home, recent
research says otherwise. A study conducted by the American Psychological
Association found that more than 50% of us check work email before and
after work hours, throughout the weekend, and even when we’re sick. Even
worse, 44% of us check work email while on vacation.
Andrew Freinkel, former neurologist and psychiatrist at Stanford University Medical Center
Sometimes, the colon becomes overrun with VERY harmful bacteria which almost overwhelms the immune system. In this procedure, enemas are given to flush the those bacteria. Then, “good” bacteria are put into the colon — tranplanting the bacteria— creating a colony in the gut which is healthy. People who were really sick with colitis become, almost miraculously, better.
“First best is falling in love. Second best is being in love. Least best is falling out of love. But any of it is better than never having been in love.”
—Maya Angelou, author of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
“I was falling. Falling through time and space and stars and sky and everything in between. I fell for days and weeks and what felt like lifetime across lifetimes. I fell until I forgot I was falling.”
—Jess Rothenberg, The Catastrophic History of You and Me
Silken custard, flaky crust: quiche Lorraine with Gruyère and pancetta.
I was writing the menu for our lunch service at Prune a few weeks ago and kept crossing out then penciling back in a classic: quiche Lorraine. I just wasn’t quite sure where we stood, as a nation, on the subject these days.
In the ’80s, “quiche eater” was a casual slur to describe feminists and liberals, effeminates and intellectuals alike, prompting T-shirt sloganism and tote-bag activism in response. Grown men wore T-shirts emblazoned with “Real Men Eat Anything” the way they now wear ones that say “The Future Is Female.” You don’t want to go through the considerable work of putting together a warm, trembling, fragrant quiche Lorraine — with a perfect flaky crust and a silken custard streaked with Gruyère and salt pork — to discover that while you were downstairs in the prep kitchen, quiche had been conscripted into some new culture war.
Not only is ‘Je suis excité’ not the appropriate way to convey excitement in French, but there seems to be no real way to express it at all.
By Emily Monaco
5 November 2018
When I was 19 years old, after five years of back-and-forth trips that grew longer each time, I finally relocated officially from the United States to France. Already armed with a fairly good grasp of the language, I was convinced that I would soon assimilate into French culture.
Of course, I was wrong. There’s nothing like cultural nuance to remind you who you are at your core: my Americanness became all the more perceptible the longer I remained in France, and perhaps no more so than the day a French teacher told me his theory on the key distinction between those from my native and adopted lands.
“You Americans,” he said, “live in the faire [to do]. The avoir [to have]. In France, we live in the être [to be].”